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Full

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You know that feeling after a good meal where you’re full, but just right full? Not uncomfortable, not regretting all of your life choices and sad you took that extra serving. Not that kind of full. Bryan often told the story of his Norwegian housemate, Rolfe, a non-traditional WSU student who had worked in the oil fields a lifetime before coming to college. According to Bryan, Rolfe would say at the end of a good meal, “I am replete.”

This month I got to travel to Fort Wayne, Indiana, to visit my bestie, her husband, and her two beagles, Doug and Travis. We got to go on adventures, relax, play pool, watch the Great British Baking show, and eat and drink marvelous things. And I got abundant puppy snuggles. It was such a nice change of scenery and a restful experience to be with a person who loves me no matter what.

Despite the travel hiccups on the return trip, it was also wonderful to come home. My first meal back was half a burrito from Tacqueria Mi Pueblito (albanil, duh!) and an Alaskan Amber walking around my house in the all-together doing laundry–elemental, grounding. This whole week has been full of most excellent moments.

Friday, I got to visit with friends who have also returned from travels, for them France and Portugal. We got to catch up on our respective adventures while enjoying a delightful pasta dinner. During the day Saturday, I wandered around Walla Walla, basking in all its autumnal glory. Last night we all caught up with more friends around a fire pit. Chili and cornbread and salad and Bright’s caramel corn–a warm, convivial evening with people who make me smile.

The weekend isn’t over yet. There’s still a pot of potato corn chowder to be made at some point. Hopefully a visit with my uncle and a walk with a dear friend will be added to today’s itinerary as well. It is possible to be aware of the troubles of the world, be heartbroken by war atrocities, floods, fires, and disaster at every turn and also be full-hearted over the simple joys of good food, friends, and a life of deliberate connection.

Rolfe, I too am replete.

Music Round-Up

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There are times when I don’t want to write all the things. Some things aren’t that interesting. Others are FAR TOO interesting and private. And sometimes I’m mid-story so I don’t want to write and affect the ending. What to do in such a place? Share some music that I’ve been introduced or reintroduced to because I like it and it’s fun. YMMV

Amy Winehouse did a cover and popularized the song “Valerie” by the Zutons. Frankly, I like just about every version I’ve heard. I think the Zutons win it and theirs is best, but dude, add a banjo and a violin and I’m IN! Please enjoy this “Valerie” cover by The Brothers Comatose.

I love folk music. Maybe it’s my low-key concession to liking country music without saying I’m a country music fan, but I’ll be honest, a man and a his guitar are going to hit me right in the solar plexus every damned time (well, that’s not the only place, but lets keep it family-friendly). This one has been in frequent rotation this summer and continues this fall.

This next one is an anthem to anyone who has had their heart broken and risen from that pain. I like it. A lot. It doesn’t match my story, but it mirrors those of many people I care about–some who are on the other side of that dark place and others who are currently walking the valley, of the shadow of divorce. Let’s be clear, the young man singing is a cutie pie, too.

Now to change it up a little from the sublime to the ridiculous and sublime. My nephew who is in his early thirties recommends cool stuff to me all the time. He’s been doing that his whole adulthood. If he recommends a song or a tv program, I pay attention because his tastes and his recommendations have a batting average over 900. “Hey Aunt Becci, I think you’d like Chappell Roan. Check out “Pink Pony Club.” I like it. I like it very much. For your listening/viewing enjoyment…

Finally, I’ve been reacquainting myself with Hozier the past few months. My friend, Heather, shared this one with me a while back and it got me listening to all of his music on steady rotation. His voice is haunting and sexy at the same time–the perfect thing for October in particular.

What have you been listening to lately?

Compliments

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La Rochefoucauld was a lot of fun to study in college. His maxims were short (suck it Proust) and great springboards for discussion. One that I have tried to take to heart personally is “Le refus de louanges est le désir d’être loué deux fois.” (The refusal of praise is a desire to be praised twice.) With that in mind, I try simply to say thank you–motivated by a desire to get past my own awkwardness. This clip from Wayne’s World (while not exactly about compliments) demonstrates what I mean. And for the record, I’m Garth in this scenario: https://youtu.be/8MLiHp2LH48?si=YYQiq2L1rVj4UF04

It’s sometimes difficult to hear something that doesn’t match what our internal critic says about us. Instead we can react negatively to what the one complimenting has offered up. Oh, that can’t possibly be true because this awful bully inside me says you’re wrong. I had never considered before, until recently, that a refusal of a compliment is also an invalidation of the speaker’s feelings. Wow. So not only has my internal critic been hurting me, now it seeks to hurt others. Rude.

Let’s be clear, though. I’m talking about sincere compliments from the heart. Pat phrases and compliments given in an effort to curry favor or to be part of some sort of cheesy pick-up can be disregarded. Usually, it’s pretty easy to tell which are which. But sincere, kind, gifts of the heart should be treated accordingly and I need to remember that.

Accordion

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I’ve described time as an accordion. (“What even is time?”) Sometimes two days stretch into an eternity and years go by in a blink. A really important friend counseled me against making maudlin anniversaries of every bad thing that ever happened. Good advice. And yet, the body keeps the score anyway. It’s been two years since we were in the hospital in Seattle for Bryan’s biopsy. The four and a half months following that were simultaneously the shortest and longest, certainly the hardest and most precious of my whole life. The nights after he passed were eternities unto themselves. And the seasons continued in their familiar patterns.

Here we are at the beginning of another one. The leaves are starting to change and the nights are getting cool. Autumn in Walla Walla promises to dazzle us in all her glory. Afternoon light at Mill Creek turns everything copper and gold. I have a vacation planned in less than a week to see my best friend and see what autumn looks like where she lives. The waiting is interminable. And the week with her will go by in a flash.

I have plans on my calendar–walks, lunch dates with friends, a carmenere tasting, fall bulb planting–that keep me looking forward with absolute joy and delight. The struggle with the push and pull of time’s accordion is to be.here.now, though. For this moment, I will be grateful for feelings of anticipation that keep me awake at night.

Waves

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I’ve written a lot about water over the last year and a half. Waves of grief, being lost in and unanchored in an ocean, navigating choppy waves. All of it. What I haven’t shared with many is that before Bryan was diagnosed, before Todd died, before Bob died, I had a nightmare. In that nightmare, I remember seeing a giant black wall approaching the shore I was standing on. That tsunami was far enough away for me to become fully aware of the devastation it was about to wreak on everything around me. I’m not certain I’d like to say it was prophetic. I could tell something was fundamentally wrong with Bryan and that may have simply been my subconscious trying to wrestle with it. But the vividness of that dream is still crisp in my mind’s eye. Within a six month period, we lost a cat, a dear friend, my oldest brother, and my husband–a tsunami of tragedy and then a tsunami of grief to follow. I tell this because it is necessary to balance what I’ve been hesitant to share.

I don’t regularly take naps, but on a lazy Saturday afternoon when there are no demands on my time or focus, I’ll take a rest with the kitties and let sleep take me if it wants to. About a month or two ago, I was in such a position, when I had the most delicious dream. I was in warm, tropical waters, that greenish blue that is bright and cheerful and so so vibrant. While in this water, a huge, warm, gentle green-blue wave washed over me, overwhelming all my senses, but with comfort, safety and bigger than I could contain. Was this dream prophetic? Or was my subconscious telling me it’s all going to be all right? I don’t know, but I know how it made me feel, how it continues to make me feel.